I was reading something yesterday about lonely places inhabited by people who seemed to have ended up there not of their own volition, but by the fickle nature of chance and circumstance.
And I was instantly reminded of the guards at Chandratal. At the base of the hills over which the bowl of the lake sits, these guards occupy a lone tent, billowing against the constant howling wind, the canvas sheared a little bit each day, hastily patched by weak thread or ineffective electrical tape.
Each stay for three months at a time, absolutely alone, save for some summer weeks when visitors come up past the cleared pass. They walk the perimeter of the lake, ensure the nomadic shepherds with their horses and sheep and yak don’t wipe out the thin, green grass too early.
I imagine their walks and their daily life. I imagine what it must be to live without the anchor of even seeing another human for weeks.